


Watching

by Just_A_Simple_Writer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Courfeyrac (Mentioned) - Freeform, First Meeting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 19:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13818036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_A_Simple_Writer/pseuds/Just_A_Simple_Writer
Summary: My take on Jehan and Montparnasse's first meeting





	Watching

**Author's Note:**

> This began its life as an English assignment, which I then added to, and it became this. Constructive Criticism is appreciated

If he sees me, I’m dead. I should look away, walk past, pretend I didn’t see anything, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m out in the open, all he has to do is turn his head slightly to see me, outlined by the gaslight to my left.

But I’ve never seen anyone die before, and I find that I _can’t_ leave.

I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as the man with the knife glinting in his hand, either. If he sees me, watching him, that knife will find a home in my chest next.

The dead man stops writhing, and the murderer bends down beside him and stars going through his pockets. It gives me the perfect opportunity to turn and walk away, but I don’t. I keep watching.

He takes a few things from the man’s pockets, and I’m close enough to see them, a pocket watch, a pipe, an ornate snuffbox.

And a beautiful leather-bound book, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. I almost gasp, but catch myself at the last second.

I must have made some sort of noise, though, because he jerks around, and his eyes meet mine. I’m about to die. I don’t think I care.

He moves gracefully, like a cat. I back up until by back is against the alley wall. Nowhere to run, too late to hide.

He reaches me, and I can see the knife glinting in his hand. My own hands, normally so steady, are shaking like aspen leaves.

He tilts his head, and gives me a strange look. There’s a smile dancing on his lips.

“You’re too nosy for your own good. It’s going to kill you.”

His voice matches him perfectly. Dark and beautiful. I barely notice my mouth moving, but I regret my reply as soon as I say it.

“I wouldn’t mind, to be killed by something so beautiful.”

His smile widens. I’ve said the wrong thing, as I so often do.

“Something of a poet, are we little bird?”

The pet name sounds strange, coming from someone like this, but I find myself rather liking it. I shouldn’t, but I do.

“Sometimes, chaton,” I reply. I have almost completely lost control over my words. They seem to be flowing out of me, like a river. You can’t stop a river.

He laughs, and he is so pretty. He tips his head back slightly, and his neck is smooth, and unblemished. I want to leave marks on it. I shouldn’t be thinking like this.

He spins the knife in his hand, and my breath hitches. I’m not scared, exactly, but the prospect of having my throat slit in an alley is not pleasant.

He hears the shakiness in my breath, and smiles, slightly condescendingly.

“Scared, little bird?”

“You are about to kill me, chaton. I think that merits at least a little fear.”

What am I saying? I’m not sure.

He tilts his head sideways, as though thinking. The knife moves towards me, and I close my eyes, almost involuntarily, expecting to feel the kiss of steel on my neck.

But instead there are soft lips on mine. Well. I didn’t expect _that_.

I hear something drop to the ground, and then his hands come up and tangle themselves in my hair, dislodging the flowers which Courf wove into my braid.

I kiss him, and he kisses me. I don’t know what’s really going on, whether he’s going to kill me, but it’s difficult to focus on much, except for soft lips, and hands in my hair, and this beautiful boy’s face under my fingertips.

He pulls away, much too soon, in my opinion, and I let my hands drop to my sides. He picks up the knife, and slips it back into his coat.

“It would be a shame, I think, to destroy such a beautiful creature.”

It takes me a moment to realise he’s talking about me. My face goes the same fiery red as my hair, and he laughs.

He begins to walk away, and I should let him, and walk away myself, and hope I never see him again, but instead I grab his sleeve, and then let go suddenly when he turns to look at me.

“Jean Prouvaire,” I blurt, “but my friends call me Jehan.”

He smiles, and I really want to kiss him again, but I think I’m already pushing my luck, so I just fiddle nervously with my sleeves, and wait to see what he’ll do.

“Montparnasse,” he says, and I realise he’s giving me his name. I smile, slightly hopefully.

“Will I see you again?”

He laughs. “Most people would not want to see a murder more than once.”

He hasn’t stabbed me yet, and I feel a little braver, so I push it. “I’m not most people.”

“Then perhaps, little bird.”

He turns and begins to walk away, and this time I just watch him go, until he’s out of sight, and then I turn and begin to walk back towards civilised parts of Paris.

Perhaps indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, that's it. If people like this I might add to it?
> 
> I have a [tumblr](https://lilyvalle.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi


End file.
